


lessons

by nightbloomings



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Family, Gen, Life Lessons, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To Sebastian, Grandda was warm and jovial, and sometimes he would lift Sebastian up to sit on his broad knee and he would listen to the stories that Ma or Da had no time for, asking questions and laughing his great, deep, rich laugh that shook through Sebastian's chest and left him feeling loved."</p><p>Sebastian had to pick up his talent for archery somewhere, right? This is headcanon about the relationship between Sebastian and his grandfather, and how that relationship shaped Sebastian's character. A few minor canon details have been shuffled around to suit the plot, but nothing material.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In Starkhaven, the Prince's Keep sits on the northern bank of the Minanter, the city sprawled out across the water before it and an untouched wood behind it.

As a boy, Sebastian was forbidden to wander into the wood without his brothers or a guard to mind him. And he obeyed this rule as steadfastly as he obeyed the other rules that his parents or his Grandda had set for him. There were so many rules; so many things a princeling should and should not do, and it was difficult for Sebastian to remember them all, sometimes, but still he tried. His Da was so cross with him whenever he would forget, but his Grandda never was.

Grandda was as tall as trees and as wide as some of them too, and Sebastian was sure that some people were scared of him, with the way that they often withered under his eye. But to Sebastian, Grandda was warm and jovial, and sometimes he would lift Sebastian up to sit on his broad knee and he would listen to the stories that Ma or Da had no time for, asking questions and laughing his great, deep, rich laugh that shook through Sebastian's chest and left him feeling loved.

However, Grandda was the sitting Prince of Starkhaven and so he was busy, nearly always. Sebastian would sometimes tip-toe to the door of Grandda's study, and if the door was open, he would peek inside to see whether Grandda was alone. He rarely was (for a long time, Sebastian wondered whether his seneschal lived in the study, for he was so often there), but on such occasions that he was, Sebastian would ask to enter and would sit with Grandda while he worked. Sometimes, the door would be closed and latched and Sebastian would hear Grandda's voice cut through the thick wood without even needing to press his ear to it. He would speak of things like 'taxes' and 'merchants' and 'bloody Orlesians.' Sebastian didn't know what those things were, but they made Grandda raise his voice, and so Sebastian was rather sure he didn't like them either way.

On days when he wasn't busy, Grandda would often leave the Keep early in the morning and not return until it was nearly time for supper. If Sebastian was awake early enough to catch him, he would follow him through the Keep as he prepared to leave. Grandda's first stop was in the larder where he would pack things to eat. Then, he would collect his quiver and bow from the armoury. Sebastian wasn't allowed to follow him there--he was only a boy of five, after all--but he would wait outside the door until Grandda emerged again. The bow was a sight--strong, dramatic curves made of the richest rosewood, accents of white leather and gold--and it dwarfed Sebastian in height, with the top arm reaching as high as Grandda's underarm when stood upright.

Bow in hand, Grandda would head for the kennels, Sebastian at his heels, where he would gather the same two dogs each time--great, grey-coated beasts with pointed ears and paws bigger than Sebastian's own palms. Sebastian never knew what the dogs were called, if they had names--Grandda spoke to them only in whistles and clicks and grunts, which made Sebastian laugh the first time he heard it. Secretly, he once snuck off behind the kennelmaster and tried to imitate the sounds with other dogs in the kennel, but none ever responded the way Grandda's did.

After gathering the dogs, Grandda would ruffle Sebastian's hair and clip his chin with a knuckle, and then he would walk toward the wood behind the Keep, humming one of the old songs that he was fond of. Sebastian would turn and run back towards the Keep, hearing Grandda's hum rise into proper singing, his voice deep and strong, wavering around the words through his thick brogue. Sebastian would move through the marbled corridors as quickly and as quietly as he could, towards the western wing, being careful to dodge the nursemaids, or his brothers, Willem and Isaac, or worse, Ma and Da. Then, he would scramble up to the sill of the same window each time and watch Grandda continue towards the wood until he disappeared beyond the treeline.

* * *

Shortly after his seventh birthday, Sebastian decided that, finally, he was going to follow Grandda into the wood. He accompanied Grandda through his routine as usual, but rather than run towards the Keep when Grandda departed, he stood in place and counted as high as he was able. He tried to concentrate on the numbers, to not lose his place, while keeping his eyes on Grandda's back. Then, when he was sure Grandda was far enough ahead, Sebastian set after him.

He followed the worn path, running between shrubs and ducking behind them in case any guards were watching. Grandda's voice was still faint up ahead as he sang and Sebastian followed the sound of it, humming the song quietly to himself. He liked to sing, but he didn't do it often. Willem and Isaac would laugh and tease him if ever they heard him, saying that singing was only for 'mincing minstrels and Chantry clucks.' Sebastian had reminded them once that Grandda sung often, and he was neither such thing, but they ignored him and laughed anyway.

Finally, Sebastian crossed the threshold of the treeline. It was a sunny, warm day but the wood was shaded and cool, and every noise echoed. Grandda had stopped singing and humming, but Sebastian could still see him in the distance ahead. He tried to be quiet as he followed, watching for twigs underfoot. Sebastian was good at sneaking; his favourite game to play was trying to escape the nursemaids when he was meant to be napping. He had managed it a handful of times, and though he'd never made it overly far before being found out by a guard, he was very good at creeping quietly to the door of the nursery, turning the latch ever so slowly, and closing the door behind him gingerly.

Eventually, Grandda reached a small clearing in the wood. A fence had been built around the edges, all gnarled old wood, and Sebastian wondered if perhaps Grandda had built it himself. After all, Sebastian had never wandered so far into the wood, even when being minded, so he was sure that no one else aside from Grandda would ever dare to venture so far, either. There were plenty of wild animals that called the wood home--panthers, bears, and wolves. And wyverns too, or so the stories said. Sebastian made himself small, hunching his shoulders inwards, and hid behind the trunk of a tree, peeking around the side to watch Grandda.

Grandda vaulted over the top of the fence and clapped his thigh to call the dogs after him. One of them barked, and then they both followed, their long, spindly legs letting them clear the fence with ease. Grandda stretched his arms, bringing them each across his chest and twisting at the waist as he did. Then he slung his bow from his back, and reached for something from his pack. Sebastian strained, but he couldn't see what Grandda had reached for. He considered moving closer, to see better, but it felt too soon yet.

Grandda began wiping something up and down the length of the bowstring, his hands moving quickly as he did. Then he pocketed whatever he'd used and reached for his quiver, drawing an arrow. Grandda's arrows were always fletched with the same brown feathers, the colour of the scotch he liked to drink sometimes in the evenings, and flecked with white spots, with three small white bands at the tips. Sebastian didn't know the bird they came from, but he always admired them on the occasions that Grandda had let him hold an arrow. Grandda rose up, standing very tall and drawing his bow in front of him. He nocked an arrow and let it fly all in the same motion, moving so quickly that Sebastian hadn't actually seen him aim. The arrow whizzed through the air, arching slightly as it did, and _thwacked_ into a target at the far end of the clearing.

Sebastian hadn't seen the targets at first, but there were five there, at staggered distances down the length of the clearing. They were massive, covered in canvas and painted with dark green rings. There were also two straw dummies, spaced between the targets, with red dots painted once on their heads and in triangle formations on their chests.

As Grandda drew another arrow, Sebastian slid out from behind the tree and slowly crept forward, keeping low to the ground. He found a shrub ahead that was large enough to hide him but that still afforded a good view of Grandda, so he sat behind it, crossing his legs underneath him.

He watched Grandda loose arrow after arrow, each one landing on-point in a target. Sebastian wasn't sure what Grandda was aiming for, exactly, but to him it certainly seemed as though he was landing every shot as intended. It was fascinating to watch. Grandda moved so quickly, and even at a closer distance, Sebastian was still not able to follow his motions when he went from nocking the arrow to releasing it.

After a while, Grandda had finally emptied his quiver of arrows. He set his bow on the ground, string facing up and resting against his pack, and then he moved towards the targets, wresting each arrow free. When he turned around to head back towards his bow, he looked up and caught Sebastian's eye. Sebastian's breath caught in his throat, and he quickly drew his legs into his chest to hide further behind the brush. After a short silence, Sebastian thought he had avoided being properly spotted, but then in the next moment, Grandda called out to him.

"Lad, the ground isn't a place for a young princeling to sit, now is it?"

Sebastian hugged his legs tighter and buried his face between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe if he made himself very small, Grandda would think he hadn't seen him after all.

Grandda said nothing else, but Sebastian couldn't hear the sounds of him nocking and loosing arrows, either. He didn't dare open his eyes to peek around the edge of the shrub, though.

Then, Sebastian heard a branch breaking followed by the gruff sound of Grandda clearing his throat, somewhere in front of him. Sebastian sucked in a breath and then slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head.

Grandda stood before him, arms crossed over his chest and head cocked to one side. "Come on, boy," he said. "You've come this far as it is, you may as well learn a thing or two."

Grandda didn't sound cross over Sebastian's sneaking around, but he sat still for a moment longer, frozen in the dirt and not sure what to do next, until Grandda reached for him, wiggling his fingers as he waited for Sebastian to take his hand.

Sebastian took Grandda's hand and he pulled him, swinging him up into the air before he landed on his feet. Sebastian laughed without thinking about it, but then stopped, clapping a hand over his mouth and looking up at Grandda tentatively--he hadn't _sounded_ cross, but that didn't meant that he wouldn't actually _be_ cross.

Grandda gave Sebastian a quick smile and then lifted him up and held him to his hip, carrying him towards the target range.

"I won't tell your mother, if you don't. I'm sure she'd rather you spent the day learning your letters, but there's a value in this, too."

Grandda sat Sebastian on the fence, just behind where he had been standing earlier, telling him to hold on tight. Sebastian obeyed, gripping his fingers into the wood as best he could. One of the dogs looked up from where it lay a few feet away and rose, loping over to the fence and sitting at Sebastian's feet. It was so large that its head nearly passed his knee. He wanted to reach forward, to scratch behind one of its pointy ears or to stroke the bony ridge at the top of its head, but Grandda had said to hold on, and Sebastian dared not let go with either hand.

"Now then," Grandda said, moving back to where he had laid his bow. "I know you're a curious boy, Sebastian, but hold your questions for now. Just watch what I do, try and see each step before I take the shot." He reached into his pocket and pulled out what Sebastian could now see was a cloth, perhaps of softened suede, and he wiped down the string of his bow again. Sebastian opened his mouth to ask what Grandda was doing, exactly, but he stopped himself, remembering that he was meant to hold his tongue.

"Archery is more than the aim and shoot," Grandda said, turning to face the targets again. He put his left leg forward and held the bow in his left hand, an arrow in his right. He spun the arrow between his fingers a few times, watching the feathers in their positions in the fletching as though it mattered which one pointed outwards. When he was satisfied, he lifted the bow and shifted the arrow in his hand, gripping the fletching between his first two knuckles. He nocked it, letting the tip of the arrow rest on top of the thumb of his bow hand. He seemed to aim the arrow before pulling the string, shifting his stance slightly, turning a bit more to the left. He took a deep breath and held it, and then drew the bowstring back, the wood of the bow creaking loud enough against the movement that Sebastian could hear it from where he sat. Grandda adjusted the height of the bow ever so slightly, such that Sebastian almost didn't see him do it, and then he let out a breath in a slow rush of air, before he opened his hand and let the arrow fly. Grandda held his stance for a moment longer, right hand still drawn back near his cheek with fingers splayed, as he watched the arrow find its target. It sailed into the middle target, the farthest one away, just above the innermost ring. Sebastian could hear the _thwack_ it made as if it were immediately next to him, and it made him jump a little, and he was thankful that Grandda was still watching target and hadn't seen Sebastian's reaction.

Grandda lowered the bow and looked at Sebastian over his shoulder, flashing a quick grin. "Did you catch all of that?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Sebastian nodded quickly, though he couldn't truly be sure that he had. He hadn't taken his eyes off Grandda for even a second, but still, he had moved so quickly and so smoothly it was difficult for Sebastian to follow every movement.

"Good lad. Maybe in time you'll hold a bow of your own, then."

Sebastian smiled at the thought. Grandda's skill was very impressive... perhaps, after some training, Sebastian could learn to be as talented as him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sebastian's eighth birthday fell at the height of spring, during Cloudreach. Grandda had been busy for the entire day, and Sebastian had missed him at dinner. Before being whisked off to bed, Sebastian asked Hilde, the head cook, to set aside two pieces of the cinnamon cake that had been served with dinner for Grandda so that he could have some before he turned in. Grandda stopped by Sebastian's chamber a short while later to give him a hug and a kiss, and to thank him for the kind thought of the cake.

After breakfast the next morning, a nursemaid came to collect Sebastian from the dining hall, and Sebastian figured it would be time for his lessons. Instead, she crouched down in front of him, smoothing out the collar of his tunic, and said that his Grandda had asked to see him, in his study.

Sebastian's heart leapt and he grinned and took off towards the study, moving quickly through the corridors. He reached the study and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

Grandda opened it a moment later, smiling down at Sebastian already. "Well, you moved right quick."

Sebastian nodded. "I remember how you always say that a man of purpose never dawdles."

Grandda laughed and put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, guiding him into the room. "And you fancy yourself such a man?"

"Now that I'm the age of eight, I do."

"Aye, that you are." Grandda smiled and motioned for Sebastian to take a seat near the desk. "I hadn't a chance to give my gift to you yesterday, I'm afraid."

Sebastian nodded, not wanting to seem eager--greed was for little children, not boys as old as he was now.

"So if you'll forgive my tardiness..."

Grandda bent behind the desk and picked up a large, oddly shaped package, wrapped in pale linen and tied off with silky green string. He handed it to Sebastian and then took a seat in the chair opposite.

The package dwarfed Sebastian's lap when he took it. He carefully untied the string at both ends, and then pulled back the linen.

It was a bow, made of caramel-coloured wood. It was simple, not as elegantly curved as Grandda's, but the bowstring was perfectly taught, and Sebastian could feel the power in it as he tugged it gingerly. And best of all, it was intended especially for his own hand.

"Now you can be a mite more productive on our trips to the target range. Would you like to learn how to be a proper archer, Sebastian?"

Sebastian nodded again. Tears bit behind his eyes but he willed them away--it was not an occasion for tears, not in front of Grandda. "I would, Grandda, very much."

Grandda smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I thought as much. Very well, we'll begin your lessons as soon as the weather turns in our favour."

* * *

Learning to be a proper archer was frustrating.

First, Sebastian struggled with keeping the arrow level as he nocked it. He gripped the fletching between his two first knuckles, the way that Grandda had shown him, but his fingers weren't strong enough to hold the arrow still and the point would drop as he was sighting his target.

Occasionally, the arrow would keep straight and Sebastian would be able to draw the bowstring back, ready to shoot. But the string was impossibly taught, and it resisted with all its might as Sebastian pulled it with all his. Most of the time, he could draw the string as far back as a few inches from the tip of his nose, but whenever he loosed an arrow from that short a distance, it sailed straight into the ground, and without even a hint of an arch.

"Tell me, which do you believe is stronger? Your arm, or your back?" Grandda asked, coming up beside Sebastian as he was arranging another shot.

Sebastian frowned at the question and lowered his bow. "Err. My arm...?" He thought the answer obvious, but if Grandda was asking, then perhaps it wasn't.

"As you might think, since you draw the bowstring and hold it steady with your arm, but that's not so. Your back is the centre of your strength, though I suppose it may not feel that way yet..." Grandda put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and pulled back slightly, causing him to stand up straighter. "But it will when you're grown; train it now and your accuracy will be better for it. And lift your elbow; you let it drop too low and sacrifice the strength in your back at the same time."

Sebastian raised his bow again, taking in a deep breath to try and stand even taller. He pulled the bowstring and tried to lift his elbow as high as he could, the muscles in his arm burning. He was surprised to notice, though, that the string felt more pliant than before, and he was able to draw it as far back as his chin. Grandda reached over and tipped Sebastian's elbow up a measure higher still.

"There. Now take your shot."

Sebastian gritted his teeth as his arm strained and he lined up his shot. He tried to aim as accurately as possible, but the pain in his arm was too strong for him to take the time that he usually did, and he had to loose the arrow before he felt truly ready. The _thwack_ of the bowstring was louder than normal and the arrow seemed to fly faster, and it sank into the straw target, just above the innermost ring.

"Wow," Sebastian said, his voice hushed. He couldn't help but grin at the sight; it was the closest he'd come yet to the centre of the target.

"There you have it." Grandda clapped a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Is your arm sore?"

Sebastian looked up at Grandda, who wore the slightest hint of a smile, and nodded.

"As it will be. Now," Grandda said, drawing another arrow from the quiver on the ground and handing it to Sebastian, "keeping the height in your elbow, don't pause for so long between drawing the string and loosing the arrow."

"But I need to aim, don't I?"

"Indeed, but not then. Your accuracy comes from your stance, from the set of your shoulders. Use your eye to sight your target, not the tip of the arrowhead; your aim ought to be determined before you've raised your bow to full height. Watch: second target from the left, dead centre," he said with a wink.

Grandda drew another arrow and took a few steps away from Sebastian. He took his stance, leading with his left leg, positioning the fletching of the arrow between his fingers at the same time. He nocked the arrow, raised his bow, and took his shot all in one movement, and as promised, the arrow sank into the very centre of the target.

"Deliberation is all well and good for practice, Sebastian, but when it comes to archery in battle, your speed will be every bit as crucial as your accuracy."

Sebastian nodded and looked down at his feet, shifting to try to better mimic Grandda's stance. He looked down the field at the row of targets, and tried to focus on the centre of the middle one, but truthfully, without the point of an arrow in front of him, it looked just as in focus as the rest of the target, and even of the targets on either side of it. He sighed, feeling discouraged somewhat.

"It'll come, over time," Grandda said from over Sebastian's shoulder. "You are a Vael, after all; archery is in our blood."

On his next shot, Sebastian managed to draw the string back as far as his ear, and the string snapped against his cheek when he let it go. It stung and burned but he clenched his jaw against the pain. A moment later, when he was sure Grandda wasn't looking, he reached up and gingerly touched his cheek, and his fingertips came away streaked with blood.

"It shouldn’t scar," Grandda said, kneeling in front of Sebastian and dabbing at the cut with his handkerchief. "And thank the Maker for it--how do you suppose your mother would react if it did?"

Sebastian laughed quietly and nodded, taking in a deep breath and willing away the tears that pricked behind his eyes. The cut stung, but it didn't hurt overmuch--truthfully, he was more concerned with what Grandda might think of the mistake.

"I’ll try not to let it happen again, Grandda."

"No sense in that, lad--it  _will_  happen again. Maybe it will even today. Certainly it will a month from now, and six months from now, and a year, and so on.

“You'll build calluses on your fingers, Sebastian, but that will be about the extent of it. All you can do is be thankful that bowstrings aren't made of razor wire; if they were, every archer would be short an ear and all of the skin on their cheek."

Sebastian's stomach flipped at the thought. He looked at Grandda's right cheek, and lo, there sat a triplicate of vertical scars in the space between his ear and his high cheekbone. He had never noticed them before, though he had never sought them out, either. A small smile spread over his mouth at the thought, and he hoped then that perhaps the cut on his own cheek might scar, too.

Grandda ruffled Sebastian's hair--and he was the only one that Sebastian still allowed the privilege, now that he was no longer a young child--and reached for his own bow.

"When did you get your first bow, Grandda?"

Grandda drew an arrow from the quiver at his waist and twirled it between his fingers. "Well... I believe I was ten years, perhaps? It was a gift from my father."

"Oh," Sebastian said. His own Da had shown little interest in his bow; he would only nod and hum when Sebastian spoke to him about it.

"Your father never had the skill for it. I gave him lessons, same as I do with you, but the want to learn never took him. He preferred the heft of a sword, in the end.

"You'll need to be trained on the sword soon enough. Your brothers have already begun their training, as you know, but someday, when you're older, you'll be made to be the leader of the militia. And a leader of soldiers will rely on his blade before his bow, or anything else."

Sebastian frowned, his fingers tightening instinctively around the grip of his bow.

"But the truth of it, Sebastian, is that knowing how to make an arrow fly straight and true, knowing how to guide it to its target with precision and speed is a valuable skill, and an on-target arrow is far deadlier than any well-wielded sword."

"Truly?"

"Truly. The bow is the wise man's weapon--in the right hands, and with practice, you'll be capable of felling your enemy before they've even noticed your presence."

"Are you capable of that, Grandda?"

Grandda laughed from deep in his chest. "I wonder. I was, once, but it's been many a year since I've trained my bow on anything other than a target of straw."


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian trained with his bow as often as he could during the summer and autumn months, accompanying Grandda whenever he went to the target range. By the time the first snow fell in Harvestmere, Sebastian was able to ensure a fine arch to every shot he took, and each arrow became more and more on-target. He was not yet quick enough, but Grandda continued to assure him that that would come in time.

Grandda didn't visit the target range during the winter--"a foolish thing, for a man of my age to forsake all of the warm hearths we have here and risk his death by cold," he answered, when Sebastian wondered why--and so Sebastian had little choice but to spend each day indoors with only his brothers for company.

When spring finally came, Sebastian could think only of visiting the target range in the wood. He waited through nearly a sennight of the first agreeable temperatures for Grandda to invite him, but the invitation never came. A dispute had begun to brew through the winter amongst the merchants over how much tax they ought to pay on their imported goods--a concept that Sebastian now understood... at least, enough to understand why it meant that Grandda spent every day in meetings with his counsel and leaders of the Merchant's Guild.

And though Sebastian was nearing his ninth birthday, he was still not allowed to enter the wood without a minder. He had taken recently to testing which of his parents' rules could be broken, but he didn't wish to test this one. Should he encounter beasts or bandits in the wood, he would be largely defenseless; his bow skills weren't nearly honed enough yet for fighting.

So, he sulked. He knew it wasn't right or proper for a princeling to do such a thing, but he was disappointed. Each morning he looked at his bow, mounted above the wardrobe in his chamber, unused for months on end. Sometimes he would oil the bowstring to keep it supple in preparation for whenever he might get to use it next, or sometimes he would simply hold it in his lap, running a thumb over one of the knots in the caramel-coloured wood. Grandda had shown him how to craft an arrow over the winter, but each step involved knives, needles, and heated glue, and Sebastian wasn't allowed to use either.

One day, his brothers came to him as he sat in the nursery, idly reading a book.

"We're going into the wood," his oldest brother, Willem, said, nearly standing over Sebastian.

"And we think you ought to come with us," Isaac added. He was leant up against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

Sebastian looked from Willem to Isaac and then back down at his book. "I don't want to."

"C'mon." Willem's voice was teasing. "We know you've been eager to go out there, asking Grandfather every single day if he has the time to take you."

"I have not asked him every day, and I would rather go with him, besides."

"In case you hadn't realised, Sebastian, Grandfather is the _Prince_. He has more pressing things to do than coddle you or let you trail after him every place."

"He doesn't coddle me! And I don't trail after him, either, Isaac. He _invites_ me to come with him."

"Right, just like we're inviting you now," Willem said.

"Why? Why do you want me to come with you?"

"Because we're going, and we know you can't go on your own," Isaac said. "Better us than some boring old guard."

Sebastian focused his eyes on the page on front of him, pinpointing the second 'b' in the word 'rabbit' about halfway down the page. Everything had become a game of how quickly he could isolate one part of something when he looked at it. He did it so often that it was becoming second nature, which he was secretly quite proud of. He wasn't trying to play the game now, but it did serve as a brief distraction from his brothers.

They would be better company than a guard, to be sure. And it would at least be some small chance to practise a little. Perhaps they were genuine... they so rarely were, but this time might be different.

Sebastian sighed. "Fine. But neither of you is allowed to touch my bow, all right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Willem said. "We're swordsmen, after all."

* * *

Walking through the wood with Willem and Isaac was different than with Grandda. Grandda would hum and sing for the first while, and then eventually he would quiet and the only sounds would be of their feet shuffling through mulch and of the forest around them. It was peaceful and lovely, and it reminded Sebastian rather a lot of the Chantry in the afternoon, after the midday prayer but before _Vespers_. Willem and Isaac were anything but quiet, though. They whooped and shouted, running up ahead and hiding in bushes, endlessly trying to scare each other. Sebastian walked along behind them, wondering whether it was truly wise to bring them to the target range. He didn't know whether they knew where it was, exactly, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to be the one to show them if not. It was Grandda's space--and Sebastian's also, in a small way--and Sebastian felt that Willem and Isaac would only sully it.

So he followed where they lead, waiting to see if they would continue in the direction of the range. When they were about three-quarters of the way there, Willem and Isaac stopped, turning around to face Sebastian.

"Aren't you going to show us how good you are with that thing?" Isaac asked, gesturing lazily at the bow slung over Sebastian's shoulder.

Sebastian looked between his brothers, not sure how to answer. "Perhaps... when I've a target to shoot."

Willem grinned and looked up into the tree canopy, squinting against the sun that streamed through. "There's something," he said, pointing.

Sebastian followed Willem's finger and saw a large raven sitting on a branch of a tree across the path from where they stood. "You mean the bird?"

"That's a suitable target, Sebastian."

"It is not, Isaac. I don't practise on animals."

"So, don't consider it practise, then," Willem said. "Hilde would have a great fright if you brought that back for supper, but it'd make a fine meal, I'm sure."

Isaac laughed. "Just imagine: roasted raven with red berries and cream. It'll be lovely."

Willem laughed along with Isaac, clapping Sebastian on the shoulder. "I'm hungry now, c'mon then."

"I won't!"

"Afraid you can't do it? No, I suppose you probably can't... You are still a bit green around the edges, after all."

"Grandfather would be able to do it," Isaac added. "He could do it even if the bird was in flight a hundred measures above our heads."

"I imagine he'd be rather disappointed, hearing that his little prodigy couldn't do something so simple as to hit a bird sitting still on a branch. Perhaps we ought to tell him, Isaac, so that Sebastian can stop wasting his time."

"I'm not wasting his time! And I _could_ do it, I just don't _want_ to."

"A fine leader of the militia you'll make, then. Might as well just tie a pretty ribbon 'round Starkhaven and gift her to whomever asks nicely for her, as soon as you're in charge."

"That's not fair, Willem, and you know it. I would never surrender Starkhaven to anybody."

"So don't you think you ought to prove that? You need to show Father that he's making a sound choice, wouldn't you agree?"

Sebastian sighed, dropping his head. Willem was probably right... he would need to prove himself sooner or later. And perhaps... perhaps if Da saw proof of just how good Sebastian had become with his bow, then he might show a greater interest in his training. And Grandda would surely be impressed too, to see that Sebastian was ready to take on more than a straw bundle. Because he was ready, he felt that much.

"Fine. Step back, you're in my way, both of you."

"Oh-ho-ho, step back, Willem. The master archer needs his space!" Isaac called, slapping Willem's arm.

Sebastian clenched his jaw and tried to ignore his brothers' goading. He took his stance, left foot leading, and looked up at the raven. It was still where it sat, looking out over them and beyond, and not even its head moved. It was easy to target: an inky black patch against the pale green leaves of the low tree. Still, Sebastian focused on it as though it were the innermost ring on one of Grandda's targets.

He drew an arrow from the small quiver at his hip, nocking it to the bowstring as he raised the bow, and he drew the arrowhead up until it fell in line with the point on which his eyes were focused. He drew back the bowstring, feeling the pinch and strain in the muscles along his shoulder and his back; he took in a deep breath, and let the arrow fly. The bowstring gave a satisfying _thwack_ , one that told Sebastian his form had been good.

And then came the sound of the arrow as it connected with the target, coming in exactly as many seconds as Sebastian might have predicted. Except, instead of the _thump_ that he was used to, the noise was shrill and harsh. The raven had cried out and the sound rang in Sebastian's ears over and over, such that he couldn't be sure that the bird hadn't made the noise more than the once.

And then came the sound of the raven falling to the forest floor. It was a solid and heavy sound, and nearly as unsettling as the shriek had been. Sebastian looked down and saw the bird lying in the mulch, the arrow protruding from the very centre of its breast, glistening blood against its jet black feathers. His stomach lurched, the sight of the dead raven making him realise exactly what he'd just done. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on his bow but wanting to drop it to the ground at the same time.

"Oh, good show!" Willem called from behind Sebastian, Isaac clapping beside him. "I suppose you have learned a thing or two for all your training."

Isaac laughed. "Now go collect your hunt, Sebastian, and we'll bring it back to the cooks."

A tear ran down Sebastian's cheek. "Maker take you!" he shouted, turning away from the dead raven and running away from Willem and Isaac.

He heard laughter, and then Willem calling after him--something about getting lost, but Sebastian didn't care. He knew the way back to the Keep better than they did, and he couldn't bear to look at them. He ran as fast as he could, the quiver at his hip smacking against his leg and the arrows inside rattling around. He still held his bow, and though he considered again tossing it aside as he raced through the wood, he held back. It felt like nothing more than a terrible weapon in his hand, but Grandda was going to be disappointed in him enough as it was, for killing an innocent animal--discarding his bow would surely only make everything worse.

Sebastian reached the Keep before long. His chest burned with each breath, but he kept running. He wanted to reach his chamber as soon as possible, to try to forget what he had done. The corridors in the lower floor of the Keep were empty; it was nearing midday, and most of the servants would be in the kitchen or the pantry, preparing the day's tea. Sebastian raced up the staircase that lead to the main floor, taking two steps at a time. He snuck out the door at the top, closing it slowly behind him. The staircase that would lead to his chamber was at the far end of the floor, and he would need to pass in front of Grandda's study in order to reach it. He hoped that Grandda would be busy that day, perhaps distracted by yet another merchant.

Sebastian took careful steps through the corridor, keening to hear a voice, another set of footsteps, anything that echoed against the marbled walls. He neared the door to Grandda's study, and saw that it was open slightly by a few measures. He paused, and then crossed in front of it slowly, with a hand wrapped around the arrows in his quiver to keep them quiet. He reached the other side of the doorway, sure that he hadn't raised any suspicion.

Until...

"Sebastian, is that you?"

Sebastian's heart leapt into his throat. He briefly considered running for the staircase that was only a short distance ahead, but he thought better of that. If he didn't answer, Grandda would surely come to seek him out.

"Sebastian, come in here, would you?"

Sebastian took a deep breath, and then turned, pushing through the doorway to the study.

"Maker's breath, have you been crying?"

Sebastian shook his head, quickly rubbing a fist under his eyes and avoiding Grandda's gaze. "No, Grandda." It was futile to deny it, he knew--his eyes felt swollen, his skin fevered and surely reddened--but he felt ashamed, still.

"Aye, you have been. Come closer."

Sebastian looked up. Grandda was sitting in the chair behind his desk, which only enhanced how intimidating he seemed. The chair was massive, the desk was massive, and, for all of his greyed hair and the slight stoop to his shoulders, even Grandda looked larger than usual. He wore a curious expression, his brows furrowed slightly. Sebastian shuffled forward, stopping a few lengths away from the desk. Grandda gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Sebastian obeyed, sitting down and setting his bow on the ground, bowstring resting against the leg of the chair.

"Tell me what happened, then."

Sebastian kept his head lowered, focusing on his fingers interlaced with each other in his lap. How much should he tell Grandda? He knew not telling someone something was no less of a lie... and lying was a sin. He'd already taken the Maker's name in vain when he'd sworn at Willem and Isaac--how much more did he dare to test? Furthermore, how much did he dare risk Grandda finding out that he had lied? Surely that would be even worse.

"Something to do with your bow, I gather?"

Sebastian nodded. "Yes."

"Were you out practising somewhere? Who were you with?"

"I was with Willem and Isaac. We went into the wood."

"To the range?"

"No," Sebastian answered quickly, shaking his head. He almost added that he would never bring his brothers there, not ever, but he thought better of it. It was perhaps selfish, to think that he could always keep the range a secret between him and Grandda.

"Well, then? Come on, lad, tell me what happened."

Sebastian sighed and looked up at Grandda. He was sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, but he didn't appear to be angry.

"They asked to see how I shoot. But there wasn't a target around, so... so they found one for me."

"Ahh," Grandda said, nodding once. "And I suppose the target they chose wasn't a mere tree trunk."

"No. It... it was a bird. A raven, up on a tree branch."

"And you shot it?"

Sebastian felt a wave of tears come again, and he took in a deep breath to try to stave them off. "I-I didn't mean to, not really! They were teasing me, and saying awful things, and I wanted to make them stop."

"What did they say?"

"That if I couldn't shoot the raven, it would mean that I wouldn't be fit to lead the militia when I'm older. They said that I would let Starkhaven be taken over by anybody who so wished. And... and they said that you would be disappointed in me, and would feel that our lessons together were a waste of time."

"I see." Grandda uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "And do you believe any of those things to be true?"

"I-I don't know. I believed them at the time, but... well, you don't seem angry with me, so now I'm not sure."

"Of course I'm not angry, Sebastian. And I'm not disappointed in you, either--in your brothers, perhaps, but not with you. You feel guilt over what you did, I suppose?"

Sebastian nodded but didn't speak. He felt guilty, but he didn't know whether he was allowed to feel guilty, since he had known it was wrong to shoot the raven from the start.

"Well, that's good, then. The first step to retribution is acknowledging that we've erred."

A lump formed in Sebastian's throat and he tried to swallow around it. _Retribution_. That was a word that he had only ever heard in the Chantry before, listening to the Grand Cleric's sermons, and he knew it was a weighted term. Had killing the raven been so wrong that it might have offended the Maker?

"Come," Grandda said, waving Sebastian towards him. Sebastian slid down from his chair slowly, but he dared not shuffle his feet as he passed behind Grandda's desk-- _princelings do not drag their feet, they walk proudly and with demeanour_ , as Ma often had to remind him. When he reached Grandda's side, Grandda turned in his chair and lifted him up to sit on his lap. Sebastian was glad for the gesture, feeling some of his worry and uncertainty come away.

"Sebastian, were you not distraught over what happened, then I would be disappointed in you; the fact that it has bothered you shows me that you understand right from wrong. Would you agree?"

Sebastian nodded quickly.

"What you'll come to learn is, there will always be those in this world who will seek to take advantage of you, or your disposition, or even your station. They'll do this for their own satisfaction, to suit their own needs, and those needs won't always been honourable or justified or right. Take your brothers, in this case. Perhaps they were curious about your talent with that bow, but if they were genuine in their intent, they would have helped you to seek out a proper target. They know your nature, lad; your nature is kind and eager to please, but also a mite impulsive. You know this, don't you? Would a boy who wasn't impulsive sneak after his Grandda into that wood, as you did years ago?"

Sebastian shrugged, and then said quietly, "No." He wasn't entirely sure what 'impulsive' meant, but it felt like a negative thing.

"And that's a valuable trait to have, you know. But what you need to understand is that you must listen to your own heart and mind before anyone else's, because when all is said and done, we must be held accountable foremost to the Maker and to ourselves. When you have a decision that you must make, you need to make it for yourself, not for anyone else."

"But, Grandda... what if I don't know the right thing to do?"

"Then you should take the counsel of those you trust. Seek out people that will have your best interests at heart. You can trust me, and your Da and Ma too, of course. And there will be others, later in your life. They won't be so hard to find, if you know where to look."

Sebastian's brow furrowed. He would need to _find_ such people? How would he know where to look? Thedas was much larger than only Starkhaven... what if these people hid in the far-flung corners, in places he'd only ever seen pictured on a map?

Grandda chuckled, patting a hand on Sebastian's knees. "You needn't worry so much, lad. You've a long ways to go yet before you'll be on your own in this world."

Sebastian nodded and he took a deep breath. "What if... what if Willem and Isaac were right? What if I am a terrible leader of the militia?"

Grandda was quiet for a moment, and he leaned back in his chair. "It seems to me that that would be a rather large 'what if.'"

"How will I know when I'm ready?"

"You'll be ready when your Da decides that it's time," Grandda said with a chuckle. Sebastian grimaced, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Grandda sighed and patted Sebastian's knee again. "I'll tell you what, lad. I'll give you a challenge--a goal to work towards. On the day that you've met that challenge, you'll have earned the right to wield my bow."

"Your _bow_?" Sebastian repeated, his eyes wide. "The one you train with?"

"The very one. I may only use it for training, now, but that bow has seen me through much, over the years, and if you concentrate on developing your skill, it will do the same for you."

Sebastian was excited--elated, even. He had studied every curve of that bow from a distance, watching Grandda use it. It was incredibly fine and powerful, and beyond that, it was Grandda's. To hold it, let alone to own it, would be an honour.

"Are you not going to ask what the challenge is? Or would you prefer to sit here, jittering away?" Grandda chuckled again, and then lifted Sebastian off of his lap. He moved over to the western window and looked through it, his hands clasped behind his back. Sebastian followed, trying to look through the window as well, but he could see little for Grandda's width.

Grandda drew Sebastian in front of him, resting his hands on his shoulders. "You see the training yard down there, along the northern wall? Your challenge is to target an arrow through the eyeslit of the helmet on one of the straw dummies from here, along the southern ramparts." Grandda pointed to his left, up at the ramparts.

"Across the entire length of the Keep?"

"Aye. It's a fair distance, to be sure, but nothing unlike what you may someday encounter should you ever, Maker forbid, be required to defend the Keep."

Sebastian had never been onto the ramparts before, but he had to crane his neck back entirely just to be able to see them from where he stood in front of the window. The height, plus the size of the Keep's yard--which he couldn't even run across without falling short of breath--made the challenge seem entirely daunting.

"You and I will still practice out in the wood, if you wish, but now you'll have a distraction on the days when I'm not available. And, if you manage to keep it a secret from your brothers, I doubt they'll ever think to look for you way up there, when they've schemed up their next trick."

Sebastian smiled, looking at Grandda over his shoulder. "I'll do my best."

Grandda returned the smile, and ruffled Sebastian's hair. "Of that I've no doubt, lad."


	4. Chapter 4

The hour before _Vespers_ was Sebastian's favourite time to be in the Chantry. Before the faithful funnelled into the nave, it was quiet and peaceful, and Sebastian always felt his most reflective in that hour. In the summer months like this, the late sun would stream through the high windows and glint off of the towering statue of Andraste, making Her even more brilliant--and perhaps, imposing--than usual. More than anything, though, it reminded him of afternoons in the wood behind the Prince's Keep in Starkhaven.

On this evening, Sebastian knelt at Andraste's feet and set about lighting the crimson candles that sat there. He heard a light pair of footsteps approach up the stairs to his right and looked over his shoulder to see Hawke just as she reached the top of the dais.

Sebastian sat back on his heel and rested his elbow on his bent knee. "Hawke, good evening."

Hawke smiled in return, giving Sebastian a quick nod. "Evening," she replied, stopping a short distance away. She held a large package in her hands, wrapped in a pale linen.

Sebastian stood and blew out his lighting stick before tucking it into a pocket in his robes and wiping his hands together to clear away any ash. "What brings you into the Chantry at this hour?"

Hawke glanced down at the package she held and then looked back at Sebastian. "I've something for you... something I found."

Sebastian couldn't help but smile faintly at the simple explanation. "Found something worthwhile in your rummaging?"

Hawke laughed, short and light. "In a manner of speaking... though not in the usual places." She took a few steps closer and leaned her hip against the railing at the edge of the dais. "I've just been at the Harriman's, actually. Flora asked that I come by, to do a last sweep of the estate for any... _unsavouries_ left behind."

"Ahh, well I hope you turned up nothing."

"No, no demons or possessed elves or mercenaries. But I did find this." She held out the package to Sebastian. "One of the mercenaries had it in his possession, and Flora suggested it might be important to you."

Sebastian's brow furrowed; he was confused at what the mercenary could have held of significance to him after so long. Surely anything of value would have been pawned well before now? Truthfully, he felt a measure of dread as well... he took the package from Hawke and unwrapped the linen. He saw a segment of dark, auburn wood and knew instantly what it was. "Maker's breath..." he whispered, his voice uneven.

It was Grandfather's bow, and in near-perfect condition as well. The gold accents had more scratches and dents than he knew Grandfather would ever allow, but it was nothing that some metalwork wouldn't be able to correct. As he passed his hands over the smooth wood, he realised that this was the first time he had ever held the bow. He felt his chest and his throat tighten, to be faced with such a poignant reminder of what was lost to him.

"I take it that Flora was correct? It has some value to you?"

Sebastian nodded and drew in a sharp breath to stem the tears that pricked behind his eyes. "More than I could probably put into words."

He hadn't yet cried over the loss of his family--not when the news was still harsh and fresh, and not in the years since. He had felt immeasurably sad, to be sure, but no tears had come.

The fact had shamed him intially, and he'd wondered just how embittered he had truly become. Elthina had reassured him that a dearth of tears didn't negate the scale of one's grief, but it had, admittedly, felt like hollow platitude. It wasn't until now, with the solid wood of the bow warming in his hands, that he felt he might finally cry over all those he'd lost. The bow was the most tangible, poignant symbol of his family that he could think of. Even his mother's locket that Hawke had recovered three years prior hadn't had such an effect on him; he remembered his mother wearing it, of course, but he saw her so rarely that the necklace was truthfully little more than an object.

Sebastian cleared his throat. "This is a storied bow. It belonged to my Grandfather, and was one day meant to be mine, would that I had been able to earn it." A small smile spread over his lips as he recalled the challenge his Grandfather had put to him. "Grandfather promised to pass the bow onto me when I could successfully shoot an arrow through the eyeslit of a helmet from the top of the Keep's ramparts."

Hawke's eyebrows rose. "And did you ever manage?"

"Oh, I did. I was determined to meet that challenge--I secretly, fiercely coveted this bow when I was a boy. I practised nigh every day for years, and I finally achieved it, just shy of my fourteenth birthday."

"And yet the bow remained in Starkhaven...?"

Sebastian nodded, glancing down at the bow. "I never had opportunity to show Grandfather. He had come ill in the year prior. It was a quick progression, and it took its toll. Years later, I considered taking the bow for myself all the same, but... well, it didn't feel right. I had met his challenge, but he hadn't seen it for his own eyes. So the bow remained in the armoury, and I was sent to Kirkwall a few years later."

Hawke smiled. "Well, all the better that it's been returned to you, then. Perhaps it will help you, when it comes time to take back Starkhaven."

"Yes," Sebastian said, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. "Perhaps it will."

* * *

It had been difficult for Sebastian to concentrate during _Vespers_ that night, knowing that Grandfather's bow was tucked away safely in his room. He'd asked Hawke whether she might stay for the service, hoping to use her as a distraction for the expanse of time afterwards, when it would be dimmed and silent in the Chantry, and he would be left with only his thoughts and memories for company. She'd declined, though, citing an appointment of some sort in Lowtown.

And so, Sebastian retired to his room. First, he removed his robes and laid them out across the chest at the foot of his small bed, smoothing out a few wrinkles in the fabric so that it wouldn't crease overnight. Then, he busied himself with washing up, taking extra care and scrubbing his face until his skin was flushed and tender.

He turned to his armour next, polishing the white enamel and gilt trim. He'd done exactly this only two nights prior, and hadn't occasion to wear it in the meantime, but it was busywork all the same. Still, the enamel could only glisten so much, and the job didn't take nearly so long as he'd hoped it might.

He briefly considered going to the library to pull a book to read before sleep, but he had no real interest in reading. He stood across from his bed, hands on his hips, and stared down at the bow where it sat on the bed, lying on top of the swatch of linen Hawke had wrapped it in. It was larger than he remembered, encompassing nearly all of the surface area of the tick. It was a beautiful bow, to be sure, but it was daunting all the same.

"Well," Sebastian said on an exhale, "I suppose you and I ought to get acquainted, then."

He moved to pick up the bow and sat down on the bed, setting the linen aside. He laid the bow across his lap and checked the tension in the bowstring. It was slightly loose, and it felt brittle, as though it hadn't been oiled in too long. It would need to be replaced, but Sebastian had a few spare lengths of sinew set aside for his own bow, and it would be an easy job.

The bow's grip was wrapped in white leather, and was connected to the upper and lower arms of the bow by gold bolts. The leather was in passable condition, greyed and a bit scuffed, after likely not being handled with a gloved hand--certainly not Grandfather's doing, to be sure--but could likely be cleaned with an application of lye. The scratches and dents in the gold joins seemed worse now than they had earlier, as he looked at them more closely. They would need to be replaced, eventually, if Sebastian hoped to restore the bow to its original condition, but he was sure he would be able to find a talented goldsmith somewhere in Hightown, and made a mental note to perhaps take advantage of Hawke's friend Varric's connections to the Merchant's Guild the next he saw him.

The bow itself, though, was in fine condition. The arms extended out from the grip in dramatic curves, with three smaller points splitting off such that the bow looked like a pair of outstretched wings. He ran his thumb along the outer curve of the top arm, remembering the intricate whorls and knots in the rosewood. He had studied the bow so intently as a child, that even though he had never held it before this night, he knew every detail of it. He lifted the bow and stood it upright between his legs, his knees holding it in place, and he tested wood's flexibility. It didn't bend easily, resisting against his force until he used both hands to push down on the top of it. Sebastian shook his head, chuckling under his breath. The bow had always seemed so fluid and malleable under Grandfather's hand, bending into a deep curve whenever he drew the bowstring.

The humour of it subsided quickly, though, and Sebastian felt overcome by sadness; he let his head fall forward, his hands resting on the grip of the bow. Grandfather had passed well before the attack on Starkhaven, and Sebastian was sure that he'd made his peace with it, but to hold the bow now, the very personification of Grandfather and everything that he was to Sebastian, made the pain feel as fresh and sharp as it had the morning he'd died.

Head bowed and hands clasped around the bow in front of him, as though it were a conduit to the Maker Himself, Sebastian prayed.

_Maker, give me the strength of mind, body, and will, to wield this bow, to honour the memory of those of my line who wielded it before me, in the pursuit of all that is holy and right and true._

_Give me the foresight to know when to raise this bow against those who would do me or those I protect harm, and when to keep it firmly at my back._

_Maker guide my hand, so that my arrows may fly straight and true to their targets and to no one or nothing else..._

Sebastian's thoughts trailed off as he realised that he intended to use Grandfather's bow as a true weapon. He would carry it when Hawke beckoned him after her, to fell the thugs, mercenaries, and slavers--and the unfathomable demons--that threatened her and her companions. He hadn't raised his bow to a living being since that morning in the wood with his brothers, nearly twenty four years ago. The death cry of the raven was as vivid to him now as it had been then, never fading in his recollection, and for all of the brawls he had weaselled his way into in his youth, he never once took another's life.

Until a few nights ago.

His arrow had been the end of Johane Harriman, on-target in her chest, precisely where Sebastian had intended. And her death was simply the culmination of a long night of fighting countless depraved beings. He'd known then, that night, that it wouldn't be the last of his involvement in Hawke's affairs, nor of hers in his. He felt drawn to her certainly, but more than that, he saw in her a true opportunity to help the people of Kirkwall in ways that he'd likely never manage from within the Chantry's confines, physical or abstract. Her methods were not the most scrupulous, perhaps, but didn't the ends justify the means? Didn't the finished painting matter more than the individual brushstrokes?

He was now the rightful heir to the seat of Starkhaven, and with the usurpers brought to bear, he could turn his focus to that responsibility.

But was it a responsibility, or an obligation? A small difference, that, but a difference all the same, with one carrying more weight than the other. In the years before his exile, Sebastian hadn't seen the seat as either--then, he'd coveted it. Then, it was an opportunity, something to further his own dishonourable interests. And he found himself thankful more now than ever that he'd been fortunate to have the Chantry as a tempering force in his life.

Grandfather had abdicated the throne earlier than any had expected, when Sebastian was only eleven--indeed, it caused quite the stir amongst the Starkhaven nobility when the announcement was made. There were whispers of ill health and scandal, but the truth of it was simple: Grandfather felt he had fulfilled his duty to Starkhaven in his service to her, and that it was time to turn his attentions to the service of the Maker. He had taken his vows in the same week as Sebastian's father's coronation.

This was not the first time that Sebastian found himself wishing he'd had opportunity to ask Grandfather about his time as a Brother, but it was the first time that he also wished for Grandfather's insights into rulership. 

Sebastian was reminded of the conversation he'd had with Grandfather after the death of the raven.

_"When all is said and done, we must be held accountable foremost to the Maker and to ourselves. When you have a decision that you must make, you need to make it for yourself, not for anyone else."_

_"But, Grandda... what if I don't know the right thing to do?"_

_"Then you should take the counsel of those you trust. Seek out people that will have your best interests at heart. You can trust me, and your Da and Ma too, of course. And there will be others, later in your life. They won't be so hard to find, if you know where to look."_

How could he make this decision for himself, though? Would that not be selfish, to consider his own apprehension--or, plainly, his fear--of accountability for the needs of his people?

Who did he have now that he could trust? Elthina to be sure, but for as honourable and righteous as she was, she held a bias in favour of the Chantry and of Sebastian's service to it. He knew she would support him, at least nominally, in whatever path he chose, but would she ever truly advocate his return to Starkhaven?

There was Flora, perhaps. They had been good friends as children, and she had sworn her support for his claim, but he doubted that he could ever allow himself to trust her again completely.

He was unsurprised to find that he couldn't think of anybody else.

But then... what of Hawke? His acquaintance with her was cursory still, but she had been selfless towards him recently, aiding him in the Harriman's estate without thought for coin, as though she were genuinely interested in seeing his problems laid to rest, and that spoke volumes for her character. Her associations to the Chantry seemed occasional at best, though she had asked for Elthina's benediction before. Overall, she seemed a woman of pragmatism and honesty.

Sebastian remembered how confused and distraught he had been over what Grandfather had told him, that there would be others to trust later in life, if he knew where to look. The thought of needing to seek out genuine relationships, to find himself in the right place at the right time, had been so daunting as a child, and truthfully, it still was. How many people had Sebastian put forth the effort to come to know, before his exile and after? To be sure, his dalliances as a boy granted him several acquaintances, but those were worth little--certainly he wouldn't have been able to call upon any of them for aid in his search for retribution. Elthina had made her position well clear, and while he valued the friendship of many in the Chantry, they were an entirely different breed from Hawke and her companions--for better or worse.

Sebastian let out a sigh, rising from the bed, and brought Grandfather's bow to the rack mounted on the wall near his armour. He held the bow with both hands on either side of the greyed leather grip and squeezed his fists around it, needing to test its tangibility. Satisfied, he placed the bow on the rack, just in front of the simple ashwood one he had been using.

Grandfather's bow was well and truly in his hand, at last. And he felt sure that Grandfather wouldn't be concerned with how, one way or another, it had come to be there. It was his now, and he had one person to thank for that. Perhaps, Sebastian thought, he had chanced into the right place after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to explore the relationship between Sebastian & his grandfather for a long time, and something based around archery seemed like the most natural place to start. I loved writing Sebastian as a child--it gave me a chance to think about his motivations and his personality aside from and prior to what's established in-game. Also, I especially loved fleshing out my version of Grandfather Vael a little. Hope you've enjoyed, thanks for reading!


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